


Sober

by MaxBetta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sweet, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 17:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12392430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxBetta/pseuds/MaxBetta
Summary: Sandor rejects a gift from Sansa, but things aren't as they seem.





	Sober

Sandor was exhausted. He'd been training all afternoon with the new members of the Lannister army, and it was infuriating. They were boys, not men.  Half of them couldn't hold a sword, and the ones that could didn't know how to use it. They were hopeless, and it irked him to no end that he couldn't just run them all through and ask for a fresh group of men. That frustration, combined with the fact that he'd recently stopped drinking alcohol, had turned him into quite the grumpy bastard, even more so than usual. For years he'd had the habit of dulling his senses with wine or ale from the moment he was off duty until he passed out on his bed. Not anymore.

He made his way down the hall to his chambers, pausing before the door to think on whether or not he had time for a bath before meeting with Sansa.  They had taken to walking together at night after dinner. It started simply enough, she wanted to walk in the peace and quiet after dusk and he offered her an escort of protection. The first few days were mostly silent, but eventually she began to talk.  She shared with him memories of growing up in Winterfell, all the horrible things that Arya and her brothers did to torment her, and all the wonderful advice her father had given her.  Sandor was awkward and uncomfortable with conversation. It didn't come easily to him, especially with her. After a time, though, he began to speak up.  Most of what he said was in answer to her many questions.  He told her of his favorite meal, what he liked to drink, what his ideal horse would look like, where he would live if he could live anywhere, and so on. He didn't feel he contributed much to the conversation, but she seemed genuinely interested.  Last night was different, though.  Sansa hesitated at first, but eventually she asked him how his face had been burned. He cast his eyes to the ground for what seemed like an eternity. She was patient, though, and let him think things through. And then...he told her.  He told her everything.  About the wooden knight, about Gregor, about his father...all of it. She looked at him, not with the usual pity he was used to seeing from people, but something different. It was almost as if she was hurt, like as if someone or something she cared for had been harmed. He didn't know what to say. After several beats of silence, she changed the subject, and he was glad for it.

Hopefully tonight's conversation would be much lighter in topic. He opened the door to his chambers and quickly shut it behind him. He removed his gloves and stretched his long arms above his head. His stretching was often accompanied by popping and cracking sounds, due in part to his aging body, and in part to his many injuries that he had recovered from over the years.  Just as he was about to remove his armor, there was a faint knock at the door. "Bloody Hell," he growled to himself. He turned and opened the door to find that it was Sansa. She was standing just outside the door, holding a tray. She was smiling and her eyes were eager with anticipation. "This is for you," she said. Without hesitation she walked into his chambers and set the tray on a small table in the corner. On the tray was a covered plate of food and...wine.  She lifted the lid from the plate. "It's roasted chicken and vegetables, your favorite. The potatoes were easy to find but the carrots were harder, I really had to search the kitchen." She continued, "And the wine, it's Dornish red. You mentioned that you like drinking it." She had made him dinner.  He couldn't believe it.  His Little Bird had listened to every word he had said, she had spent time in the kitchens, and she had made him his favorite meal. And now...he had to refuse it.

"Little Bird..." he started.  "You can't leave that here.  I can't explain, but...but I need you to take the tray and everything on it and go."  The look on her face was a punch to his gut.  He had destroyed her.  She had spent all of that time and effort doing something nice for him, and he rejected it.  He had good reason, though.  He had gone two weeks without drinking now, he gave it up the day after they first started walking together. He hadn't told her because his reasons were very...personal. He couldn't bear the embarrassment of telling her why. He knew, though, that if the wine was in his room, he would drink it, and he couldn't let that happen. He had thought for a moment about eating the meal and just having her remove the wine, but that would have begun a line of questioning that he wasn't ready to answer.

"But...you said that roast chicken with vegetables was your favorite meal. Does it look bad?  Did I make it wrong? Perhaps if I try it again. Maybe one of the cooks could help me..." He cut her off with a sharp, "No!" She froze. She looked at him with a fear that he hadn't seen in her in weeks. He could see her eyes beginning to glisten with tears and it killed him that he was the cause of it. Sansa didn't say a word more, she just turned on her heels and began to leave.  She slowly made her way toward the door, opened it, and was halfway through the doorway when she heard rapid, heavy footsteps behind her. She stopped suddenly when she felt a rough warmth in her left hand. She looked down to see that Sandor was holding her hand in his.

He had to tell her.  He couldn't have her thinking he didn't appreciate what she had done for him. "Little Bird," he began in a voice barely above a whisper. "The meal you made looks perfect. Thank you."  She stared at his face, trying to read where he was going with this, but he was unreadable. "I can't accept the wine, though.  I have stopped drinking wine.  And ale.  I don't drink alcohol anymore.  I haven't for about two weeks." Sansa's face began to soften, and she gave him a look of understanding, but she was curious, too.  She wanted so badly to ask why he had stopped, but he looked as if he wasn't finished explaining, so she kept her mouth shut. "I stopped drinking because of you. You see, wine makes me tired.  And...and I never want to be too tired to walk with you in the evening.  Our walk each night...it is the best part of every day for me. You are the best part of every day for me. Our time alone together is the closest thing to happiness that I have ever known."

Sandor had been looking down at their two joined hands the entire time he was speaking. He couldn't believe he was touching her. He loved how small her hand was compared to his, how warm and smooth her skin felt, and how pale it was in contrast to his. It suddenly occurred to him that she hadn't given him any indication that she wished for him to touch her in such a way, that she may not feel the same way about it that he did. She hadn't pulled her hand back, but maybe she was afraid to. He sighed and finally made himself look up at her face. She was smiling with her eyes, but her mouth was expressionless. She wiggled her hand and removed it from his. Sandor had expected as much.  Sansa walked back into his room, retrieved the wine, and quickly returned to the hall side of the doorway leaving the rest of the tray behind. He thought he was imagining it, but he looked down and saw that she was, in fact, holding his hand.

They spent several moments looking at one another, eyes to hands and then back to eyes again, each wearing a hint of a smile at the corner of their mouth. They stood there, in silence, for what seemed like hours. Neither of them wanted to be the one to break the hold. Unfortunately, there were footsteps nearing in the hallway. They would need to separate before anyone saw what they were doing. He released her hand, and she stepped back. 

"I would like to go for a walk after you finish your meal, Ser," Sansa blurted with a half smile, knowing it irritated him so. "I am no Ser." he replied, not ungently. He slowly began closing the door, but they maintained eye contact until it was completely shut. She thought she saw the start of a smile on his face just before the door closed. She was right.


End file.
